


Viral

by DPPatricks



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Dialogue-Only, Humor, M/M, Technology, contemporary older guys tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 04:35:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DPPatricks/pseuds/DPPatricks
Summary: Christmas morning, 2016, and Starsky shenanigans.





	Viral

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posting again. This one appeared on Day 14 of the 2016 Starsky&Hutch Advent Calendar.

“Starsky, what are you doing?”

“I’m takin’ your picture.”

“While I’m standing here _naked?_”

“Mostly naked, Hutch. You’re wearing a strategically placed apron.”

“An elf apron you gave me last night as I recall.”

“You recall correctly.”

“Wait a minute. Isn’t that the phone I gave you? The first present you ripped open an hour ago?”

“Sure is.”

“I thought we were going to read the manual together, later. Check out all the new features.”

“Couldn’t wait. Wanted to take pictures of your gorgeous body.”

“My _old_ body, you mean.”

“Your body doesn’t look old, Hutch. You might not be as ripped as you were forty years ago but you’re still in damn good shape. I mean, look at those beautiful buns, those sculpted thighs, that broad, muscular back, that velvety…”

“Starsk, why are you still taking pictures? Breakfast is almost ready and you’ve wasted enough pixels to fill an eight gig thumb drive.”

“I’m not takin’ individual pictures, Hutch.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m streamin’ you.”

“You’re _what?_”

“You heard me.”

“I’m naked here, Starsky!”

“That’s what’s so beautiful, babe.”

“Wait, isn’t that illegal? To broadcast nudity on television. Or the internet?”

“Frontal maybe, not this. A bare butt was probably a shock when David Caruso got away with it on NYPD Blue. These days? Not so much.”

“I didn’t think you knew how to get on the internet with that thing.”

“I didn’t. But I started fiddling while I was watchin’ you cook and asked myself, why shouldn’t others be able to see this paragon of sexiness, too? So I clicked a few icons and we’re live, babe.”

“Oh, my God, Starsky, you’re not showing my face are you?”

“‘Course not. Don’t worry. All they can see is your beautiful bod.”

“You’re sick, you know that?”

“No, you’re makin’ me hot! And I’m not the only one. There are a few hundred people out there watchin’ you scramble eggs and fry real bacon.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. Turn back around, Blintz, keep cookin’. Let’s see a little hip action, some bump and grind. We’ve got sophisticated viewers here. And some comments, too. Listen to this, ‘Wow, that’s the best Christmas present I ever got! Thanks!!!’ With three exclamation points from Dallas, Texas.”

“I’m shocked.”

“No you’re not, you’re tickled pink, don’t try to kid me. You’re as vain as you always were and you love it that people want to look at your assets.”

“My _assets?_”

“Just keep that apron in place, Blondie. I don’t mind people ogling your excellent cheeks and those forever-long legs but the rest of your equipment is _mine_. Nobody gets to see the cock ‘n’ balls but me.”

“Sick, sick, sick.”

“You’re gettin’ too static, Hutch, give us a few dance moves. Try some of those steps they taught us at Arthur Murray.”

“Are you broadcasting sound, Starsk? Can people hear us?”

“‘Course not, buddy, relax. It’s just me and you here. And a few hundred… oh, shit!”

“What?”

“We just went viral.”

“What does that mean?”

“That there are a whole buncha people out there lookin’ at you scoot around naked in our kitchen.”

“Doesn’t anybody have better things to do on Christmas morning?”

“Apparently not.”

“That’s sad.”

“I think it’s beautiful. They think you’re beautiful. Listen to this. ‘Wish I had those hot crossed buns on my breakfast table this morning. Beverly Hills, California.’ And here’s another one, ‘I’m buying my husband a membership in a fitness club tomorrow. I want an ass like that under my Christmas tree next year. Peoria, Illinois.’ Oh, here’s a shortie, ‘Merry Christmas, Sweet Cheeks! Alexandria, Virginia’.”

“Breakfast’s almost ready, Starsk. Want to turn that off now?”

“Can’t Hutch, we’ll offend and disappoint our audience.”

“Starsk…”

“Here’s a good one, ‘Can we make this an annual event, please? I’ll get through the next twelve months easy if I can look forward to another Christmas evening like this. Sydney, Australia’.”

“Good grief.”

“They want you to dance some more, Hutch. ‘Shake, shake, shake your booty, baby. Brussels, Belgium.’ And here’s one you’ll like, ‘You can waltz into my kitchen any time you want, Mr. Astaire. Honolulu, Hawaii’.”

“That’s nice.”

“Told you. Hey, they’re comin’ in fast now. ‘Love the tan line, sugar. Des Moines, Iowa’.”

“What tan line?”

“‘If I send you my address can I share your… recipes? Lincoln, Nebraska.’ Damn! This one’s in French, I can’t read it. This one isn’t, ‘Do you give cooking lessons? I’m available to study under you any time. Anchorage, Alaska’.”

“Starsk, breakfast’ll be ruined if I don’t serve it now.”

“Dish it on up then, I’ll keep streamin’. ‘Great legs!’ this one says, ‘and what they’re attached to ain’t bad either. New York, New York.’ I gotta agree with those words.”

“Thank you.”

“One more… Nope, that’s it. We’re done, outta here. That’s all, folks! Sayonara. Say goodnight, Gracie.”

“Why? What’s wrong, Starsk. What did they say?”

“Lose the apron.”

A little humor  
with ageless beautiful men  
on Christmas morning

END


End file.
